From Heaven
by The-MarmaladeCat1
Summary: Two angels fall to earth, somehow they pick themselves up and carry on. [Cain and Abel]


Spoilers for the end of the anime.

Covers the gap between the scene where the two Kresnik brothers fall to Earth and the one wher we see Abel with Ion afterwards.

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_From Heaven _

They tumble from the sky, burning glittering white and blue trails like stars falling to earth. The impact as they hit the ground is a screaming, blinding pain that splinters and breaks them in a shower of sparks and raw electric power.

The silence after the impact shifts slowly into focus and as the wrath of their descent gradually fades, lingering pain and the salty, metallic scent of blood becomes the sum of their world. Two figures lie crumpled and dazed, dreaming half-conscious in the mists of shock and the buzzing thrum of the nanomachines that weave reparations through their veins. The place they have fallen into holds its breath and stands silent to regard the fallen angels in its midst. There are no trees here, this land is scrub and wiry grass and choking dust that rises up in clouds and whirls lazily above them, roused to irritation by their intrusion.

In the distance a fox calls, a sharp barking cry that cuts across the horizon and stirs the pale figure crumpled beside a tiny, wending stream. This figure shifts and a pained gasp escapes its lips, cracking the skin and re-opening a half-healed wound. Black eyes slide into semi-focus, pupils so wide they obscure the palest of blue that surrounds them and the figure raises a twisted hand to pull strands of blond blood-streaked hair out of its eyes.

The action exhausts the creature and it is forced to lie prone again and feel the water of the tiny stream soak into the dishevelled hems of pale robes burnt black with the touch of wrath. The figure breathes out and feels the blood bubble in its chest and well in its throat. Its head falls to one side and a trickle of blood wends its way down its forehead as its eyes come to focus on shining silver. It takes it some minutes to register the scattering of angel feathers in which it lies and for a long time this creature simply lies healing and admires their beauty.

The sun jumps across the sky between one blink and the next as the creature's addled mind slowly begins to grasp the fundamentals of timekeeping again. He shifts, for now he remembers such thing as "he" and "she" and "it," and rolls himself onto his side. His body screams in mutinous pain and there is a sound, low and ragged that must be his own tortured moaning as whip-crack pain crashes through his nerves.

But there is a purpose to this suffering and he smiles because the pain defines him and reminds him of his existence. Curling fingertips into the dust-dirt he drags himself to his knees and the weight of his wet robes is almost enough to pull him prone again. He grins terribly and dry lips split and bleed with the action. He can smell blood on the wind and not all of it is his own.

Cain Knightlord pulls himself to his feet and celebrates the agony that twists in his limbs at the action. He stands, sways, and almost falls before finding his balance. An expression that is more snarl than anything so gentle as a smile pulls at his features and with the licking flames of broken bones setting his body alight, he sets one foot in front of the other and begins to walk.

He follows the scent of his brother's blood on the breeze and sets out towards its source, trailing silver angel feathers all the way.

oOo

In the middle of the plains there is a mound of granite, its contours worn smooth by the ages of rain and wind and time that it has endured. Upon this ancient, silent slope there is a trail of something dark and wet that glimmers in the midday sun. These marks are smeared and untidy as though something has fallen from the skies, landed halfway down this granite mound and then slid and thudded its way to the bottom of the slope in heavy, painful motion.

If one were to follow this trail down to its end one would find a far more insignificant, less unyielding mound at its base. An untidy heap of black cloth and flying white and broken, chipped charms whose silver links are dented and bent out of place. Dark stains surround this form and flies have landed on it, crawling their way over smooth, blood-streaked skin turned black with bruises.

Cain sees the figure lying in a shimmering distortion of heat haze and the smile that pulls at his lips is somewhere between triumph and exultation. He wraps one arm tighter around his chest to keep the bones in place and drags himself forward to find his brother.

oOo

Abel is surrounded by stars as he drifts lazily in the light of the galaxies. It is peaceful in this place, cool and silent and soft as he rides the solar winds with the wings of his Kresnik form. He sweeps close by Earth, marvelling at the beauty of the blue and white and green before skimming up and over the surface of the Moon, waving as he passes to Seth who sits amazed on the tip of the Arc. She calls to him, her voice tiny and distant, frantic, but he ignores her and sweeps on towards the Sun.

The heat of it is unbearable, crushing, a wicked fire that consumes him and he can feel the skin of his chest beginning to burn and scent his hair begin to scorch as he tumbles inexorably closer. Even twisting and striking out with his wings cannot alter his course and he can hear a voice now, low and insistent and crooning, calling his name into the darkness. The heat is becoming unbearable and he can hear another sound now like the rushing of wind or the moaning of an animal in pain as the world shakes, turning around him.

He opens his eyes and looks up into darkness and pain. He can taste blood and hear someone close by in terrible distress from the pained, erratic sound of their breathing. He twists, moving to locate them and finds himself restricted.

"Abel."

He blinks and focuses and suddenly the darkness has a shape and Cain is there. Cain with his terrible, vacant smile looking down at him, his face inches from Abel's own. His murderous, treacherous, evil brother. Abel would scream but he doesn't have any breath and he realises that the sounds of agony that he hears are his own.

"Do not move, brother. You're broken."

He wants to scream. Cain is kneeling on him, one kneecap digging into Abel's stomach, the other in the dirt between his legs. He has his fingers bunched in the material of Abel's collar and the strands of his blood-matted hair scrape across Abel's cheeks.

"Caiiin…" the word is pained hiss of fury and almost all that he can manage.

"Hush, brother. I am here…" Cain drops his head and his cheek brushes against Abel's own making him want to flinch back. But his body will not obey and parts of it feel like they're on fire. He clenches his fingers and his nails scrape dirt.

"Damn you…"

"Hush…"

Cain's breath is on the skin at his neck and as his brother moves he can feel the soft patter of liquid on his cheek. Blinking and grimacing he can tell from the trickle that runs into his mouth that it is blood. He shudders and wants to scream at the reaction the taste of another Kresnik's blood stirs in him.

"My brother…what have you done…?" Cain's voice is mocking, low and soft and intimate. One of his hands disentangles itself from Abel's collar and shaking fingertips trace down a bloodied cheekbone. "You have broken us both…"

Suddenly the soft touch turns to a painful grip as Cain's fingers close harshly around Abel's chin, squeezing cruelly and forcing his head back into the dirt. The movement makes his vision explode in flashes of white and red light as though he sees their battle again and the agony that coils in his spine makes him want to vomit.

He would curse his brother and foul, terrible words ring in his head but do not make it past his grimacing lips. He moans and the sea of blackness that he swims in threatens to rise over him and drag him down to its depths. Cain's laughter is gentle, just like the old days when they all were as one, and Abel twists, confused.

"Abel…" Cain whispers. "I will make it all better. I will make it all right. Your brother…"

Abel's eyes meet pale, ice-fire blue and something is wrong, so wrong…but is that not his brother, his older brother, and are they not comrades in this terrible war against all of Humanity, against _everyone_? He doesn't know where the others are anymore and he thinks that something, somewhere deep inside of him is badly broken because it feels like he's bleeding out every last drop of his blood onto the cold earth.

"Cain…"

His brother moves to hush him and leans forward, the movement driving his knee deeper into Abel's gut. Abel doesn't react though, or maybe this is the way it's supposed to be and Cain is here because of the pain just like he always is; here with the pain, and gone with it too.

Cain's breath is on his neck again and Abel shudders amidst the pain because it's like coldfire against his skin. He feels sick and he hurts and he's so terribly, achingly thirsty or hungry or _something_, but most of all he's tired. He's tired of the fight and the war and the blood which is all around him and the death and he just wants to rest now. Cain's voice is a low murmur in his ear and then against his cheek and then against his forehead where the pain stabs somewhere behind his eyes.

He feels Cain's lips brush his skin and his breath hisses between his teeth. Cain tightens his grip on Abel's collar, pulling him up and close to him, whispering softly as he presses his lips to the jagged gash along his brother's temple.

"This is our bond. Our binding blood. We are the same, you and I and we shall rule this world together. It is ours, our Kingdom of Heaven, our paradise to burn as we please."

Abel is only half-listening because the touch of Cain's lips to his forehead reminds him of childhood and in his head there is the harsh neon glow of strip lights and laboratory lamps. He thinks, somewhere under the scent of Cain that is blood and sickness and smoke, that there is the scent of something chemical and wrong.

Cain laughs against his skin. "But not yet, brother. You and I, you have broken us, and we need time to heal. I shall return for you. Wait for me, Abel, and then, _then _you and I shall never be apart again."

The weight lifts from his chest and the pain that rushes in to fill the gap makes him cry out wordlessly. He coughs and spits blood, his body trembling with the damage it has taken. Shuddering, his eyes search for his brother, but Cain is already gone.

The sun passes high overhead and he is falling again into darkness.

oOo

It is a boy that finds him, a boy even by the standards of his Methuselah brethren. He comes across him lying in the dirt at the base of a granite outcropping, his hair clotted with dried blood and his robes torn and burnt from some terrible battle. Around the priest's neck is a broken chain where someone or something has snapped off the crucifix that once hung there. The boy's eyes pass over the still features of the man and fall to rest on the scattering of pale feathers that lie across the man's chest.

Ion blinks and hurries forward, a cry falling from his lips as finally he comprehends what he sees. He cradles Abel's body in his arms, pulling the priest across his lap and scraping the strands of his bloodied hair away from his cheeks. He rocks him and his tears patter down onto the priest's cheeks. Abel stirs in his arms as if awoken by the sensation and Ion freezes as his eyes meet the blue-fire intensity of the Kresnik's.

They pause there, the Kresnik considering and the Methuselah waiting, a moment frozen in time. Then, softly, slowly, Abel pulls the boy down to him. Ion cries out once, sharply, as Abel's teeth break the skin of his neck and then he is still.

oOo

Over the top of the granite rise, dawn is breaking. The first light of the sun falls down over the slope and comes to rest on two figures huddled at the mound's base. One is a man. His silver hair is matted and caked with blood, but his blue eyes are very clear. He holds in his arms the form of a sleeping boy whose face and body are obscured by a thick cloak wrapped tightly around him. The look in the man's eyes is fearsome and intent, and the arms that he has wrapped around the boy no longer shake with agony.

There is a purpose in that man's gaze, and a terrible, abiding fury that is awful to look upon.

The two figures huddle there in the shadow of the stone as the first light of the day touches their cloaks and reflects like fire from the silvered edges of the angel feathers that lie scattered at their feet.

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Comments welcome. :) 


End file.
